


Close

by butterpanic



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Pre-Quinncident, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 22:16:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21278618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterpanic/pseuds/butterpanic
Summary: He wants to please her. It's all he's ever wanted.





	Close

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commanderlurker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commanderlurker/gifts).

She circles him like a predator.

She smiles like a predator, too. All teeth as she slowly, methodically disrobes. Cape, robe, underpinnings, discarded in an artful heap. He knows it’s not how she usually prefers – everyone on the Fury takes a laundry shift, and her belongings always arrive neatly folded in the bin. This is just part of the game.

He's been naked since before she stepped through the door. Vulnerable. Exposed to any of the crew that might pop into her quarters unannounced at any moment. Quinn knows they won't, of course, any more than he would; but like the clothes, it's about the appearance of things rather than their truth. So many things balance on the blade of that particular knife lately.

(She always messages him privately hours ahead when she wishes to meet. For preparation, she says. In recognition of his love of scheduling. He suspects it's because she knows what it does to him, how it feels to wait. The anticipation, the longing. The way his heavy uniform feels stifling hot and too tight around the collar. Her every routine and innocuous inquiry draped in innuendo. Surely everyone must see it, too, must know what he's about to do. Silently smirking at his back as he walks down the hall fifteen minutes before the appointed hour.)

She tied him within moments of arrival, not even bothering to bid him up off his knees. That’s his lord's favorite way to have him. Waiting. Ready to be made something. Tonight his arms are captive, wound around with silken cords that don't bite but nevertheless make things crystal clear.

Quinn always obeys, except the one time he did not and was still sometimes surprised to find himself living to regret. It would not be repeated. He raised a hand decades ago and swore the first of many oaths, and it’s only natural that he finds himself on his knees again and again.

When she's finally naked, she stands before him. Close, but not close like he wants. He wants to please her. He's achingly hard already and she hasn't so much as brushed him with the back of her hand, only touching him as much as was required to painstakingly tie the intricate knots. She's close enough to smell, sweat and arousal and the perfume she favors, dark and weighty. She's so close that if he tilted his head, leaned just a bit nearer, he could touch her. Like he yearns to do, to press a kiss to her muscled stomach and then move lower, put his mouth to other uses.

She notices. She always does.

(His lord is not a mind reader. He prides himself on being prepared for any situation and research is an essential component of preparation. Quinn has carried out an expert study of her skills since his assignment to her crew, combing through her tutors' notes, records from the academy on Korriban. Reviewed what battles of theirs he could from salvaged security footage. Watched her. He knows she’s not gifted like Jaesa, just cruelly perceptive on her own terms.)

"Is this what you want?"

It is and it isn't, as it is in everything when it comes to her. She runs her hand idly down that same stomach, brushes her fingers through her curls in a way that makes him flush. Not beg, not yet. He's not that weak, though who knows what the night still holds. He wants to worship her. She parts her folds, so close to him, and he imagines he can feel the warmth between her thighs, the smallest disturbance of air as she strokes herself. She grins down at him, too many teeth.

His lord loves him on his knees.

She knows exactly how to torment him. What she does with her other lovers he'll never know, whether she's rough or seductive or cruel in a different way. To hold herself, her pleasure, so close to him and then deny him the chance to serve is near unbearable. He strains toward her, throbbing, ignored.

A sigh, her hand still working, thighs shifting to give him a better view. It isn't for him, of course. It just makes it worse. Fingers, idly sliding between her swollen lips, the slickness making the slightest of sounds in the open silence of the cabin. Movement, the steady rhythm of two fingers against her clit. Her other hand wanders, cupping a breast, tweaking a nipple, sliding down across her hip. He knows every inch of skin she visits, has visited it countless times when she's permitted him the honor, and all he wants to do in this moment is tread that familiar path once more.

She moans. His hands twitch.

It must show somehow, because she's got that feral grin again. She disengages. Drags a finger across his bottom lip, ever so slowly, slicking him in her wetness. He almost cries.

Then she's gone, draping herself back across the rich fabrics of her bed. Indolent. She beckons, crooking her finger. Rising off his knees is awkward but not hard - how much lifetime has Malavai Quinn spent on his knees? - but shuffling on them towards her as he joins her on the bed is both. She's thoughtful as she watches him. Indulgent. Benevolent. It's an expression that makes him shiver.

“I’ll allow you the use of your mouth, Captain Quinn.”

He takes her at her word.

Imperial conditioning keeps him fighting fit, and he's using it in the spirit of service to the Sith if not the letter. Nevertheless, it’s exertion, challenge, his body bent nearly in two at the sole demand of her pleasure. His cock shifts weightily between his legs as he bends to finally taste her. Reverent, he drags his lips along her thigh.

His tongue on her lips. Lust and worship. Salt and slick and warmth, her sigh against his utter devotion; perhaps for the last time.

Quinn is naturally a quick study, but in the months since he was taken as a lover he's had plenty of time to practice. She doesn't like being teased, as some women do. That much he had suspected even before he'd had the opportunity to test his theory, but it's important to be thorough. She had been quite thorough in return, teasing him for hours, bringing him to the brink before cutting him off cold again and again.

He had begged that night.

Instead, he consumes her. From the awkward angle forced by his bindings he can't crane his neck to see her, so he closes his eyes to remove all other distractions. Slides his face against her, spreading her by cheek and jaw. Sharp strokes of his tongue, harder than he'd expected that first time. When her thighs clamp around him he knows she's close, knows where she wants his attention and the single-minded manner in which he should provide it.

Her hand tangles in his hair, urging, and he feels the weight of her power. That which Baras fears, that which he will subvert dutifully when the time comes. Not battle lust, simply desire, overwhelming - of course the Sith use their power so. She shoves his face into her as she nears the edge, moaning and pulling at his hair until it almost hurts, which just urges him on. He'll gladly drown in her, if that's what she commands.

His own neglected cock is trapped between his thighs, drawing him ever closer to the precipice as his hips follow her movement and his abdominal muscles scream at the uncomfortable position. When she comes, he must follow her down unknowing, because as she strokes his hair after untying him he realizes he's made a mess of himself. His cheeks burn, but she looks at him through hooded eyelids. Smiles softly.

"You've served me well, Malavai."

It's what he wants.

She didn't always allow him to remain but as of late it's been common, and she motions to her bed as he exits the refresher on wobbly legs. Sometimes he fears her kindness more than her cruelty. The arrangements have been made, the plans laid, and when they're set in motion kindness will not soften the blow. Not for him, not for his doomed Sith.

He lays his head on Dussif's breast as she strokes his hair, and dreams of another life.


End file.
